They paced and turned. Dick levelled his pistol instantly at Austin, with murderous hate in his eyes, and drew the trigger. The pistol clicked harmlessly. Austin, self-conscious, did not raise his pistol. But Dick, broadening his chest, glared at him and shouted, wildly, madly:
"Fire, damn you! Fire! Why the devil don't you fire?"
The cry was real, vibrant with fury and despair. Austin looked at him for an amazed moment; then, throwing his pistol on to one of the arm-chairs, he came up to him.
"What fool's game are you playing, Dick? Are you drunk?"
Katherine, with a low cry, flung herself between them, and, clinging to Dick's arm, took the pistol from his hand.
"No more of this--no more. The duel has been too much like reality already."
Dick staggered to a straight-backed chair by the wall, and, sitting down, wiped his forehead. He had grown deathly white. The flames had been suddenly quenched within him, and he felt cold and sick. Viviette, in alarm, ran to his side. What was the matter? Was he faint? Let her take him into the fresh air. Austin came up. But at his approach Dick rose and shrank away, glancing at him furtively out of bloodshot eyes.
"Yes. The heat has oppressed me. I'm not well. I'll go out."
He stumbled blindly towards the French window. Viviette followed him, but he turned on her rudely and thrust her back.